


In a Moment of Tribulation

by iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: DIstressed Ichabod, F/M, Hurt Abbie, Ichabod Third Person POV, Kissing, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid/pseuds/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two of them have been through much this past year—they have both lost so much, and through everything Ichabod has lost, he has survived. He has endured.</p><p>… But he is not entirely sure he can endure this.</p><p>Or: Abbie gets shot, and the fear of losing her pushes Ichabod to finally make a move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Moment of Tribulation

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened to Katrina before this. Did she die? Did she cross over to the dark side? Fill in the blank as you see fit, I'm just here for Ichabbie goodness.

_No, no, no, no, no…_

Ichabod feels his pulse quickening, hammering through his temples. There is already a lump rising in his throat and a familiar pressure building behind his eyes, but he pays no mind to it. Instead he places his shaking hands on either side of Abbie’s face, trying to get her to look at him.

“Abbie?”

She is sitting with her back against the wall of the subway tunnel. Her eyes are distant, unfocused. Her eyelashes flutter a bit, but that is the only response he gets. Again Ichabod’s eyes are drawn down to the rapidly growing blood stain on her shirt, just below the ribs on her left side, but he forces himself to tear his gaze away and look at _her_. Her face feels warm under his fingers, and that at least gives him a bit of hope, but… He shakes his head, gulps. “A—Abbie, _please_ , you can’t…”

“ _Crane!_ ”

It’s Jenny’s voice that snaps him out of it, if only for a second, and only because her voice echoes absurdly around the brick walls of the empty tunnel. Ichabod looks over his shoulder to see Miss Jenny hurriedly shrugging out of her jacket while balancing her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear. The six-year-old girl—Sofia, the one they had set out to save in the first place—is standing behind Jenny and clutching the fabric of her jeans in one hand, silent and wide-eyed, seemingly unable to look away from the dead Hessian lying just a few yards away. The dead Hessian who _shot Abbie—_

“ _Crane_ ,” Jenny shouts, her firm voice pulling Ichabod from his thoughts again, “Abbie’s gonna be fine, okay? Just”—she balls up the jacket and reaches down, all but shoving it into Ichabod’s hands—“stop the bleeding, keep pressure, and _keep her awake_ , okay? I’m getting an ambulance— _Hello?_ ”

Ichabod barely makes the effort to respond—in any case, Jenny isn’t waiting for an answer, instead focused on shouting into her phone—and he immediately turns away and presses the jacket up against Abbie’s stomach.

His eyes are on her again, waiting, praying for her to say something to him.

She is going to be okay.

She _has_ to be.

“Abbie…” he tries again, gulping down the lump in his throat.

Her half-lidded eyes pass over his face.

He applies more pressure. Behind him, he can hear Jenny trying to get a better signal on her phone, an endeavor that is apparently giving her more trouble than expected. She keeps alternating between muttering a string of obscenities at the subway tunnel and halting in the middle of her words each time she remembers the small child clinging to her leg. Ichabod glances over his shoulder, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He has never seen Jenny as frazzled as she is now, and her distress is only serving to fray his own nerves even further. They _need_ to get a hold of those mobile doctors—

“… Crane…?”

Ichabod turns back to Abbie so quickly that his neck cracks.

“Lieutenant?” he asks, watching her with wide eyes. Her head is leaning against the wall behind her, but she’s rolled it a bit so that she’s facing him. Her breaths are coming too slowly, but she is still _breathing_ , at least.

Her eyes slowly scan over her surroundings, but she probably can’t see much past Ichabod’s face hovering just inches in front of her own. When she looks back at him, she takes a slow, deep breath, and asks, “The girl…?”

He nods hastily, smiling in spite of the situation.

“Unhurt,” he answers, glancing down for half a second at his hands and pressing the jacket more firmly against her stomach. “Thanks to you, of course.”

The corner of her mouth barely twitches up in a smile. Her eyes are still half lidded. “That’s…” she tries to say, but she pauses, slowly catches her breath, and finally manages to breathe out, “That’s good.”

He smiles again, nodding, but he can still feel tears welling up in his eyes.

 _She will be alright,_ he reminds himself. _She will._

“Oh, _come on_ —!” Jenny’s voice sounds from behind again, and Abbie’s brow furrows. “This stupid fu—this _place_ has no god—no signal—Crane, can you carry her?”

The abrupt change in subject makes Ichabod shake his head for a half a beat, but then he blinks and twists halfway around to raise an eyebrow at Jenny. He asks, “Can I—? Sorry?”

“ _Carry Abbie,_ ” Jenny elaborates, staring him down with wide eyes. She has already picked up Sofia and is carrying the small girl on her hip—Sofia’s little arms are wrapped tightly around Jenny’s neck—but for all the world Jenny looks like Abbie and Ichabod are the only people whose existence she cares about right now. “ _Now,_ Crane! We don’t have much time!”

Ichabod does not need to be told twice.

He looks back at Abbie. Her face is glistening with sweat and she looks like she is only half awake, but she must have heard, because she gives Ichabod a pained smile and nods. Without waiting another moment, he gently places her hand over the jacket on her stomach, wordlessly switching over the job of applying pressure to her, and then he carefully shifts her into his arms.

It takes them four minutes to get from the abandoned subway tunnel to Abbie’s SUV, four minutes of Ichabod nervously staring down at Abbie and constantly adjusting his arms and trying not to put her through any more pain than she is already enduring, all the while keeping Jenny’s back in his periphery so that he knows he is still going the right way. Twice Abbie flinches—it’s the subtlest little wince and a hiss through her teeth both times, but both times Ichabod notices and slows his steps.

When they finally get to the vehicle, Jenny opens the back door for Ichabod without a second thought, and half a second later she is opening the passenger side door and settling Sofia into the seat.

Ichabod gently lowers Abbie onto the backseat, slowly settling himself down beside her and letting her rest her head on his lap. He hears Jenny buckle the seatbelt for Sofia and say, “Watch your fingers,” before shutting the passenger side door, but his eyes are only on Abbie.

He places one hand over hers, firmly pressing her hand down on the wound, gently running his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand.

There is already blood soaking through the folds of Jenny’s jacket, and Ichabod gulps, feeling the lump rise to his throat again. He bites the inside of his lip, _hard_ , reminding himself to stay in control, to _not panic_ , because she is going to be fine.

Miss Jenny said that she’ll be fine.

He remembers the last time he thought he had lost Abbie, all those months ago in the library, and how Hawley had breathed life back into her lungs. Modern medicine is capable of more than Ichabod had ever dreamed; he _has_ to remember that, or he’s going to lose his mind.

But as Jenny slams her foot down on the gas pedal and the SUV lurches forward, the only thing he can seem to think is that _he can’t lose her_. He runs the fingers of his free hand through her hair, pressing down with the other hand, still biting the inside of his lip. One of the tears that have been welling up finally breaks free, and he stubbornly rubs his cheek against his shoulder.

The two of them have been through much this past year—they have both _lost_ so much, and through everything Ichabod has lost, he has survived. He has endured.

… But he is not entirely sure he can endure _this_.

He is drawn out of his thoughts again, this time by Abbie.

Her eyes are closed.

“Abbie? _Abbie!_ ” he shouts. At the sound of his voice, her eyes open again, and the ice that had taken a hold of his veins for that moment begins to subside. He tightens his hold on her hand. “L—Lieutenant, you mustn’t lose consciousness. You _must_ stay awake until we arrive at the hospital. Can you do that?”

“I… don’t…” she tries to answer, but she winces and holds her breath through the pain, shifting a bit before she manages to say, “… I don’t… know, Crane. It—It’s not easy.”

He gulps. “I understand, but it won’t be much longer now,” he assures her, glancing up through the windshield as if he’ll be able to tell how close the hospital is from that. As he looks, Jenny flies through a red light with the horn blaring, her right arm thrown to the side to hold Sofia protectively against the passenger seat. He looks back down at Abbie, still running his fingers through her hair. “You have to _try_ , at least. Just…”

His voice breaks, and he has to pause for a moment to collect himself.

Her eyes are only half-lidded.

And for all of Miss Jenny’s assurances and driving expertise, Ichabod doesn’t know if Abbie is going to make it.

_He doesn’t know if she’s going to live._

Before he knows what he’s doing, he shifts his free hand so that it is supporting the back of her neck.

He looks over her face, wondering for half a moment if this will be alright—

And then he is kissing her.

His back is arched painfully and the angle is odd, and there are still tears on his cheeks, and there is blood still seeping through the jacket underneath their hands, and he is nervous and shaky and out of practice. But all of that falls to the back of his mind when, to his surprise, Abbie responds to the kiss almost immediately. She leans into it as far as she can manage—that is, tilting her chin up about half an inch—her lips moving along with his, and it is her, not him, that first flicks her tongue between his teeth for just a split second.

When he pulls away, his pulse is racing once again. He slowly lets out the breath he had been holding. Again he moves his left thumb back and forth across the back of her hand, but he is unable to look away from her eyes for the moment.

She looks at least _marginally_ more awake now.

“ _Please_ , Miss Mills,” he breathes, still cradling her head in his free hand. He leans down again and kisses her gently on the forehead. “You mustn’t give up just yet.”

As he leans back, he sees the barest hint of a smile grace her lips. She gives a quiet, weak hum that he thinks is supposed to be a laugh.

“You promise …” she says, her voice still a bit weak as she raises an eyebrow at him and her smile widens, “… to do that again, later… and we’ve got a deal.”

It takes him a second to realize what she meant, and then he can’t help it.

He laughs.

“Every day for the rest of our lives, Lieutenant,” he confirms, “if you’ll let me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not add a second chapter of Ichabod pacing around a hospital waiting room and then finally getting to see her, we'll see where that goes.


End file.
